Release Blitz::: Hitched by Christine Manzari

For aspiring journalist Harlow Ransom, life is just a well-oiled machine, and if she plans well, all things will go accordingly. And that is exactly why Harlow lives her life by perfectly polished to-do lists that she refuses to stray from—even when she's celebrating her 21st birthday in Sin City.

1. Visit the Boom Boom Blues Lounge

2. See the water show at the Bellagio

Things can't possibly go askew if she crosses things off her list one by one. But after a night of celebrating leads to waking up in bed with a sexy stranger and a ring on her finger, Harlow realizes that in no point in time did she ever have "Get Married" on her trusty to-do list. Yet that's exactly what she did.

Professional snowboarder Trace Stone loves a good challenge—he's all about the win. And this time, he's going to find a way to win over the feisty, meticulous Harlow. The wedding may have been spontaneous and impulsive, but when he said "forever," he meant it. Now, the only thing he wants on Harlow's to-do list is him—from this day forward.

“This book has everything I need in a romance novel. Steamy hot scenes (hello!) and humor (Couch Cat! Buzz!) are some of what Manzari does best, but what always strikes me are the depth of her characters.” - Author Laura Ward

“This book was an epic love story that starts out with both the reader and the characters having absolutely no clue that their lives are about to be flipped around and turned inside out.” - Nerd Girl Official

Dancing. Alcohol. Heat. Lips. Laughter. Flirtatious touches.

Harlow naked in my bed.

I had no idea what time it was, but it was late. She said just one drink. She said there would be no bed in our future. She said she was immune to my charm.

All lies.

I’d lost count of how many times we’d fucked. All I knew was each time we reached the end, our lips and fingers greedily held on until it started all over again. I knew every inch of her. I’d had my mouth on each spot at least once. I wouldn’t be happy until I’d conquered every fucking inch of her.

I was sore and tired and spent, but in the best goddamn way.

The bed was still in one piece, and that was more surprising than the fact that Harlow was in it. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if we fucked it into a pile of rubble if it meant that morning never came. I had a feeling when the sun rose, it would all end. She would fade away just like the dancing water at the fountain where I first saw her.

I growled at the thought and worked my fingers into her long curls, for some way to hold on.

Her body was slick underneath me as I pushed up onto my knees, sliding in and out of her. Her limbs were wrapped around mine, holding me close. I could smell the sweet scent of alcohol and sex as I dipped my head to taste her neck. I devoured the tender skin along her throat, my teeth and tongue making her breath catch. Her slim body bucked up against me, and my fingers dug in, trying to tame the wild roll of her hips before she pushed me over the edge too soon. I kissed across her jaw until my mouth found hers and when she kissed me back, it became punishing. She teased her lips against mine, accepting the wild plunge of my tongue, and then pulled away until I was begging for more.

“Faster,” she demanded against my mouth. She dug her fingers into my skin and pulled me flush against her, pushing up into me recklessly. Soon my body was grinding and pounding against hers. Hard into soft. Over and over again. She was under me, but she was riding me, urging me with every tilt of her hips, daring me to go harder. Deeper.

And I was so lost in the sensation. My touch was frantic trying to sear everything about her into my memory.

When I thrust into her, my knees dug into the mattress and the headboard knocked against the wall. She moaned into my mouth with every rock of our bodies and it just made me want to do it again. To hear her beg my name. To feel her grab onto me. To feel her come around me.

I pulled my lips away from hers so I could look down at her. Thick lashes lifted and all I could see was green—the deep emerald of shiny bottle glass, gazing back at me. Burning for me. Her hair was spread in copper tangles across the mattress, the pillows and blankets shoved to the floor hours ago by her wild hands. Her pale skin was flushed pink and shiny with sweat. The fingers of one hand were still fisted in the sheet beneath her, yanking so hard she was pulling it free from the corner of the bed. The other hand was pressed against my ass, both of her legs wrapped around mine to keep me close.

Her eyes closed. She made a sexy sound in the back of her throat as she ripped the sheet free from the edge of the bed. I ran my hand up her side, cupping her breast before leaning down to take her nipple in my mouth.

“Maybe I should marry you,” she moaned across the top of my head as her hand clutched my hair, holding me to her chest. “Then we could do this every night.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled around the smooth skin of her breast.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

I let go of her hair and reached between us, stroking her. Making her body tremble. She clenched her teeth as if to hold her moans inside, like she could keep the pleasure all to herself.

Her eyes flew wide open. The wordless shape of her mouth and stuttered gasps were all I needed. She held my gaze as she arched up into me, chasing her release, racing me to the end. Again.

They say you can’t become an addict after just one hit.

They lie.

One night. One girl. And I could feel it deep in my bones. I was addicted.

The first thing Christine does when she's getting ready to read a book is to crack the spine in at least five places. She wholeheartedly believes there is no place as comfy as the pages of a well-worn book. She's addicted to buying books, reading books, and writing books. She even turned her dining room into a library—reading is more important than eating. She also has a weakness for adventure and inappropriate humor. Christine is from Forest Hill, Maryland where she lives with her husband, three kids, and her library of ugly spine books.